


Notes

by Caedmon



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Angst, F/M, I'm Bad At Tagging, Multi-Era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-07
Updated: 2015-10-07
Packaged: 2018-04-25 07:26:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4951717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caedmon/pseuds/Caedmon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>One of the things that the Doctor noticed shortly after he brought her on board was that Rose wrote a lot. </i>
</p><p>  <i>It wasn't anything substantial, really; she certainly wasn't composing sonnets or writing a novel. They were mostly reminders to herself, little lists or notes quickly jotted down on whatever paper she could find to help her remember things she may forget.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Notes

**Author's Note:**

> Just a little idea that popped in my head. I wrote this out as it occurred to me, it's a little bit of a word-vomit kind of thing. Sorry! :)
> 
> The usual:  
> I own nothing but the mistakes. Those are all mine.  
> If you are reading this, you have my absolute gratitude. Kudos and (especially) comments make me a better writer and I appreciate them to the ends of the earth.  
> Send me prompts, messages, or just say hi! caedmonfaith.tumblr.com

One of the things that the Doctor noticed shortly after he brought her on board was that Rose wrote a lot. 

It wasn't anything substantial, really; she certainly wasn't composing sonnets or writing a novel. They were mostly reminders to herself, little lists or notes quickly jotted down on whatever paper she could find to help her remember things she may forget. But the Doctor was somewhat less than pleased the first time he found a note taped to the Tardis' refrigerator a couple of weeks after he took her on board, reminding them to pick up milk when they stopped off on Earth. 

_Domestics._

He was even less thrilled when he went looking for Rose a few days later, anxious to show her just how impressive he really was by introducing her to his friend - the Emperor of Rome, no less - only to encounter a note on her door saying she'd gone wandering in the Tardis and he may have to come rescue her.

The little ape had actually gone and brought the dreaded domestics onto his ship. The Doctor's lip curled at the little smiley face she drew next to her name and he tried valiantly to convince himself that the look on his face was a derisive snarl and not the smile he knew it actually was. 

As time went on Rose left little notes and lists everywhere, for everything. They seemed to be the way she organized her thoughts, and as much as the Doctor grumbled about the bloody domestics of the little handwritten missives she left lying around and little lists ( _oh-sodden-hell-Rose-how-many-lists-does-one-person-need_ ) about everything from planets they'd visited to movies they should watch to rooms not to visit, he came to enjoy the comforting little bit of clutter. He only muttered to himself a little when he started adding things to the grocery list himself and the first time he left her a note telling her he'd be back, he swore it was just a practicality.

He didn't bother justifying it to himself at all when he started buying her stationary and pens at various marketplaces and bazaars they visited, his ears and later, in his new body, his whole face pinkening when she'd kiss his cheek in gratitude. It made Rose happy, and that was enough.

After Krop Tor, when the time for denying the existence of the love they both felt was through, Rose took to slipping little notes in places that may surprise him when she wasn't around. If she did happen to be close when he stumbled upon one, he'd make sure to whine appropriately. 

"Roooose...I'm a Time Lord. I'm nine centuries old, known throughout time and space as the most clever being in the universe... I'm _the Oncoming Storm_ for heaven's sake, and you're passing me love notes! I'm not a schoolboy," he would pout - like a schoolboy./p >

She would just click her tongue, refusing to be shamed and completely unabashed by his admonishment with a look in her eyes that he couldn't quite place, and then in typical Rose Tyler fashion, go ahead and do whatever she wanted anyway. Who did he have to be embarrassed in front of? The Tardis was theirs, only theirs. The Doctor would drop it. It made Rose happy and he could deny her nothing. Besides, despite his whining, he didn't mind the little notes anymore. He'd read them and smile to himself, loving the sentiment, loving her, and reflecting on the fact that domestics with Rose Tyler were the most wonderful thing that had ever happened to him in all of his lives.

She loved him, and she was determined to make sure he knew it. He hoped she never stopped.

~*~O~*~

The Doctor was bored. This particular regeneration wasn't as mechanically inclined as past regenerations had been, so he didn't particularly want to build anything. He had the itch, though...that itch to do something...something new or maybe something he hadn't done in a long while... something different, something _fun_...

His outward age and appearance was a bit bothersome this time. His last few bodies had been young and handsome (save for those ears, although he rather thought the eyes made up for it), and this body looked rather older than he felt. He'd gotten quite used to being...well...cool. 

The Doctor pondered on this a while, smashing all of these thoughts together in his brain, trying to make a solution of all of it.

_Feel old. Want to feel young and cool again. Bored._

The realization that he had a room full of musical instruments (and the knowledge to play them) sprung to mind and he leapt to his feet excitedly. Never mind that he hadn't touched his guitar in over a millennium. Bugger that. He was a genius. Piece of cake. 

The Doctor strode confidently to the music room and flung the door wide, heading to the hard case which contained his trusty guitar with an unerring memory. 

"Hello, old friend," he smiled, laying the case flat and unsnapping the closures. "I bet you are spectacularly out of tune. Fancy a go anyway?"

The Doctor lifted the top of the case and a single piece of paper flitted out in the breeze generated by the opening of the lid. He snatched at the paper in surprise, curious, then recognition washed over him along with a groundswell of memories. He'd bought this paper on the moon of Rehio over a thousand years ago, along with a fountain pen that would write in seven shades of pink. It had been only the second time he'd bought stationary for her, and the first pen he'd bought. She'd accused him of being a sweetheart and he'd stammered protests until she giggled and kissed her thanks.

The paper had been scented, and a tiny whiff of that scent reached his nose now, even as his fingertips closed on the paper, further flooding him with memories. Her smile was right there, her brown eyes filled him with warmth, and he was sure - so sure - that if he opened the fingers that held the paper and shifted his hand just a bit, he'd be cupping her beloved cheek, just as he had all those many, many years ago. 

He'd nearly forgotten. It had been so very, very long ago.

The Doctor took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of the paper and the faint scent of _her_. He pulled the slip of parchment to himself with trembling fingers to read, noting idly that it hadn't faded at all with age, his hearts drumming rapidly with something like dread. The flowing, curling manuscript washed over him, prickling even more waves of memory;

_'My Doctor,  
I didn't even know this room existed! I can't imagine you playing the guitar...I giggled when I thought about it! Maybe I'll ask you about it sometime...you could sing something for me._

_There's no telling when you'll find this note (or even if you will, someone else may find it!), but whenever you find it - be it tomorrow or thousands and thousands of years from now, right as you're reading this, I am somewhere, loving you. I will always love you._

_Always yours,  
Rose'_

The Doctor rocked back on his heels, staring at the paper. Eleven hundred years vanished on a wisp, and suddenly he's in black leather again, dancing around the console during the Blitz, then he's lying in apple grass next to her, then he's staring down the devil and declaring his belief in her, then he's saying goodbye to her on a beach - twice. 

The Doctor buried his face into his fists, crumpling the paper, and wept.

He hadn't forgotten. Not at all. He knew he never, ever could.

~*~O~*~

A short time later, the Doctor stood in his room at his desk and unlocked one of the myriad drawers. When he slid it open, he lifted out a stack of notes, all in the same graceful, looping manuscript, some signed 'yours always,' some with a kissprint, some with just a flourishing, elaborate letter 'R'. Some were just lists of various things featuring Rose's writing and the writing of two of his previous bodies. 

He never told her that he kept every one of her silly little notes and lists. It wasn't until much later that he realized that he probably didn't have to: years later, when he reflected on Rose and the notes she'd left him and how he'd teased her, he recognized the look she'd had in her eyes when he'd complained. It had been wisdom in her caramel brown irises...knowledge of him and the desire to see to his needs even after she was gone. To care for him when she was only a memory. She always knew that one day, he'd need this. His clever, precious girl. She always knew what he needed much better than he ever did.

The Doctor kissed the note he'd just found, smelling it one more time and taking comfort in the last tiny, faint remaining scent of her, that smell that he hadn't smelled in hundreds upon hundreds of years. He closed his eyes and said goodbye to her for the millionth time, attempting to make peace with the loss and grief one more time, then set the paper in the drawer with all the others and closed it, locking it back so that no one could ever share in this secret. 

He turned on his heel then and headed back toward the music room, determined to tune his guitar and make it wail. 

The Doctor was in a bluesy kind of mood.


End file.
